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Original Writing

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Original Writing Coursework. Second Draft By Hannah Hurley A gale chilled the bones of an intrepid Miss Rose Taylor as she wrapped her thin ragged shawl ever more tightly round her shoulders. Rain had battered the city, leaving the cloyingly sweet scent of freshly soaked pavements and dilapidated buildings. Still the weather suited Rose perfectly; she had no patience for sunlight, why should the weather be so content when she was not? The grey dimness hid the worst of the dirt and the grime along the streets of Whitechapel as well as her tear-stained cheeks. Whispering a silent prayer, she sullenly slipped through a rickety gate into a darkened alley. Mud and crumbled leaves caught at Roses skirt soaking the black wool and making it drag through the slush unbearably. A mother drunk on gin, lolled against the crumbling wall of a ramshackle house- derelict and haggard with wear. The whole street spoke...

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